


Colors of You (subject to change)

by JustAddSINamon



Category: Creepypasta - Fandom
Genre: "Bondage" technically, Conflicting Feelings, Eventual lemon and smut, Kidnapping, M/M, No seriously - super slow burn, Possible stockholm syndrome?, Seriously - this is kinda fucked up, Slow Burn, Twisted story, Yaoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 15:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13484067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAddSINamon/pseuds/JustAddSINamon
Summary: Ken Caldero is the owner of a large steel industry, in a world ridden with partying and dirty deals now that there has been panic about serial killers around the area. He doesn't focus much on that, and tries to just go about life normally. That is...until...well, you know how these descriptions go. 'That is, until, blah blah bla'. But does that ever really hook you into a story? It doesn't work for me, since I see it so often. So...you know what? I'll let you figure it out yourself, if you're interested in reading.You've seen the tags. Are you up for the read? ;-)





	1. Here He Is

**Author's Note:**

> A little disclaimer! I am not the oringinal creator of Ken Caldero, so I am sticking to the backstory and few character quirks that the oringinal creator gave him. Other than that, he is mine to tamper with, and I think I make good use of the creative freedom I have. This work is ultimately for the oringinal creator of Ken. :-3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A simple introduction into the life of Ken Caldero.

It started with a bang. Then there was a crash. His head was thrown into the window, glass shattering from the impact into the wall. He could feel the glass cutting into his face. The steel of the car bending into his chest. For that moment, he couldn't breathe. Everything was still. Silent, save for the ringing in his ears. Muffled screams from his father in the seat beside him. They didn't last very long. And then sirens.

But for that moment, that one silent moment, everything hung in the balance. Pain, unawareness, tragedy. Ever present, yet nonexistent. And that one moment will forever plague him. He knows it. He knew it from the moment he experienced it. He would never be able to forget that sensation. That comforting yet terrifying feeling of hanging in the balance of mortality. But it never lasts long. It always brings him back. Back to that scream. Back to the sirens. To the pain.

Kenneth Caldero woke from his sleep suddenly, breathing heavy as though he had been holding his breath while unconscious. He gasped, staring at his ceiling as he breathed, allowing his heart to calm down. His hand came up and traced over his chest, feeling where the metal of the car had once cut into him. He stayed like that for a few minutes..it was probably a few minutes...before his phone rang out in alarm on his bedside table. Turning his head to look at it, he stared. In apathy. 

Finally, he moved. No longer feeling paralyzed, only annoyed by his recurring dream awakening again. He pulled himself upwards, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His bed, whose light grey sheets were probably dampened with cold sweat. He picked up his sleek black iPhone, tapping the alarm to turn the blaring annoyance off. He sighed, running his hand through his curly dark brown hair. He took a deep breath, steely green eyes focusing on the window across from him in his room. The room was dark, with only the morning light illuminating it. As Ken slowly exhaled, he took in the surroundings of his room and reminded himself where he was.

His bed, against the wall, stood cold against the blue-grey walls of his room. Under its position, his white door, which led to the rest of his house. Red curtains hung from his window, open, inviting in the sunlight. His dark red bedside table still held the same metal lamp it always did, with a potion of his black phone charger cord still visible from where it fell behind the surface. Beside his window, his television was positioned so he could watch it while laying down in bed. His dark hardwood floor, dyed in the darkest and deepest shade of red as per his request when redesigning his room, was cold underneath his feet. He stared at it for a long time, before his second alarm went off. He blinked, finally, looking to his phone. It blared, reminding him that it was seven on the morning. He swiped the alarm away, and it stopped. 

Giving a small groan, he finally stood from his bed. The cool air provided by his ceiling fan only reminded him of the sweat on his back. Though he'd been worse off. He stretched his arms, catching his reflection in the television. Shirtless, as he wore only shorts to bed, and with messy shoulder-length hair. The scars on his chest were lighter than the rest of his chocolate brown skin, and therefore stood out as the first thing he saw. He hated that being the first thing he saw when he looked at himself. It wouldn't have been so bad if it was only his chest that bore the scars. Instead, there was a painful reminder of a large gash than ran just below his eye and slanted towards his chin. A scar that caught everyone's eye when they met him. Even simply when they saw him.

He turned away from his reflection, walking over to the large wardrobe that stretched across the back wall of his room. Throwing the two doors hinged unto it open, he was met with the usual scene. Suits hanging up in the back, forgotten and neglected. Dress shirts hanging up, cared for, at the front. Dress pants folded on proper shelves, along with long ribbons for ties. Regular clothes folded neatly in stacks on top and inside of drawers. Shoes littering the floor. Mainly? Lots of red. His favorite color, even after seeing it spilled in front of him in that...incident. Most of it was his own. And yet...he almost liked the color even more now. He wondered why for a brief moment...before remembering his goal and reaching out to his clothes.

It was so routine to him that it was over before he knew it. The chill air of his room was suddenly shielded by his clothes, and he was tying his tie around the collar of his shirt. A dark red dress shirt, which was supposed to match a black suit that he refused to wear. Black dress pants, shiny black shoes...and a black tie. An infuriating black tie that just would not cooperate! "Piece of-" he yanked the evil ribbon away from him, throwing it into the pile of other cloth in his wardrobe, then closing the wooden doors. Who needs a tie, anyway? It's not like he wore them that often. 

He glanced down at his clothes again, making sure everything was in place. Ah, there was one too many buttons undone. Besides that, everything was in place. Normal. Exactly as it should be. Ken retrieved his phone from where he placed it atop the wardrobe as he was dressing, sliding the sleek black phone into his pocket. His watch...where was his- "Forget it." He spoke aloud, instantly putting his thoughts to rest. His pesky thoughts, which he often interrupted. He didn't wear his watch that often, so why did he always worry about it in the morning? It was lost half the time.

Ken exited his room through his white door, shutting off the ceiling fan with the light switch as he left. His hallway greeted him, a warm light brown color which contrasted sharply to every room it held. His bathroom was pure white, his room was blue, his closet was grey, and his kitchen was white with red linings. The only thing it matched were the stairs it held to his right, which led down into a storage room he never used and his laundry room. Ah, and technically the dining room and living room, as it led directly into both at its end and therefore shared its walls.

He buttoned the stray button on his shirt as he walked the familiar hall. He stopped near where his dining room and living room met, entering his kitchen. He would call it a humble kitchen, especially considering what he would be able to afford if he replaced it. In reality, it was spacious and clean, with lovely granite countertops and silver appliances. As he walked in, his eyes caught his sink. Large, made for holding many dishes at once. Then his silver-clad stove, whose grottoes were hardly dirty at all. Then his shining silver fridge, smudged slightly from where his hand always held its handle in the mornings. And there his hand went to do it again, swinging the refrigerator door open. He grabbed a milk carton, turning around as he closed his fridge and setting it on the counter that was previously behind him. 

Against this wall appeared to simply be a large row of glistening marble counters, but to his left his dishwasher sat in silence under the surface. He leaned down and opened it, knowing the clean dishes in his cabinets above him were close to none, grabbing a bowl from the grey linings of the machine. He closed it again, setting the bowl on the counter as he always did. He turned and retrieved a box of cereal from the top of his refrigerator, then proceeded to open it and pour it into the bowl. Just as usual. Nothing was out of place.

Again, it was over before he knew it. Done before he'd even begun. And he was opening the front door, the black oak front door, to let himself out. He followed the stone path around the vivid green grass to his driveway. His driveway, which held an expensive red car. Red, of course. His favorite color. A shiny red car, unused by anyone save for himself. Expensive, yes. Keeping in mind he only set aside enough money for one car, one would assume Ken had a fairly well-paying job. Every neighbor in this good neighborhood assumed so, even as they had rather similar items as he. Yes, Ken had a wonderful...'job', if you could even call it that.

He was the owner of a large established steel company. In all fairness, he could afford much better housing than what he had. Capable of so much more than his neighbors thought he was. Yet, he was attracted to a much more simple idea. He smirked to himself as he sat in the black leather seat of his car. Perhaps he wasn't exactly as attracted towards the idea of simplicity, but rather, enjoyed spending his money in different places. He'd much rather spend his money on experiences rather than on his house. What those experiences might be...was no one else's business.

He drove the same road he did every day, got aggravated at the same traffic light, and parked in front of the same building. Checking his reflection quickly in the mirror of his car, he smoothed the top of his hair back. Again. The rest of his hair remained curly and furled, especially by his shoulders. Ken clipped a small hairpin under a tuft of hair behind his head to keep his hair back and out of his eyes. He sat there for a moment...looking blankly at himself...simply staring. Then he looked out of his windshield, to the large grey building with his company logo on it. Large glistening glass windows covered its exterior in some places. One wall to most every elevator was glass all the way through, causing large streaks of glass by every corner of the building. He could see the machine carrying people up even now, like ants working busily to provide for the Queen.

Ken looked into the mirror once again, into his own hazel-green eyes, speckled with tiny spots of yellows and browns that could be seen if one got too close. One could almost compare them to that of a cat's eyes. He barely saw them, as he had neglected to wear his glasses that day, scorning the evil wire and frames. As always. He stared for another moment, reminding himself who the people in that building were actually providing for. He smirked. He recognized it as his signature smirk. Hell yes. He was the Queen. And with that, the morning illusion of his routine was broken, and his personality came rushing back to him even more fully. He stepped out of his car, hearing his shoes kick the rocks under his feet, closing the car door with a slam.

Ken Caldero looked to his building, his industry, with a smile. A sense of hunger from his eyes, like a predator looking to a fun prey. Or royalty looking to the commoners of their kingdom. And that's just what this was. His kingdom. His smile sat firmly on his lips, and his eyes played with the view before him. His smile only grew slightly as he straightened the cuff of the sleeve of his shirt...and began to walk forward.


	2. As it Should Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ken at his company, where he acts as he always does...

Ken's office was a pale grey color that reminded him of his room. It was fitting, as it was his own space to control. There were many familiar things there. His name in bold on a silver stand on his large oak wood desk. A sleek laptop, shining in its dark grey color. A green plant in the corner, growing in a little brown pot. Nicknacks in his drawers, a grey work phone on his desk, a notepad. The usual. The brown office door ahead of him had multiple small holes from where he threw darts at it. The broken dartboard lay dormant in another corner of the room. His office had one window, to the right of where he sat at his desk, which he kept the beige curtains of closed. The entire area was as familiar to him as his own home.

Ah, and here came to him another familiarity. A rather well-formed woman with dirty blonde hair and small rimmed glasses. She was one of the most good looking white girls in the entire building, and of course, she was his secretary. "Cassandra. Right on time." Ken commented as the woman placed a folder with papers inside of it down on his desk. The secretary replied with a small hum sound. Ah, she had a steely determination to her today. Her mind was set to something. "Any plans tonight, Mrs. Rivers?" Ken asked her. The woman rolled her eyes. "Nice try, sir." Her voice was simple and rather energetic, yet calm and contained. Like a fire dancing on the embers of dying coals. One of the best voices in his industry.

"Oh come on. It's not like I'd take you to some trashy joint like that other 'raggy' fellow." Ken smirked, opening the file Cassandra had set before him. "Oh, Reagan is a nice guy. And that 'trashy joint' was a drive-in movie theatre." Despite how she tried to defend her experience with her latest date, the secretary didn't seem too hellbent on redeeming Ken's view of him. In fact, she didn't seem very enthusiastic about the experience at all. Ken looked up from his files after hearing Cassandra walk behind him to put an item in the filing cabinet, allowing him to catch if view as she walked by. Smirking mischievously, he flicked his hand outwards towards her. She jumped, making a small squeak noise, looking behind her to the man who had just hit her behind. "Oh, lighten up or take 'em off." Ken joked. She blushed slightly.

"I already told you, Caldero, you're not getting into my pants!" Cassandra scolded. "Ah, I'll get there one day." Ken replied. She gave a look of disbelief and anger, but she couldn't hold it for long. Her mouth began to curve into a small smile. Ken gave her a wink. Cassandra smiled and scoffed in disbelief, as if the whole thing had only been a joke, then exited the office with Ken calling a wolf whistle after her as he watched her leave. She shook her head, shutting the door. Ken smiled, giving a small chuckle to only himself. He looked back to the new files on his desk, his smile falling a little. Ah, the only good thing about getting these was the person who brought them to him. He flipped through them, unenthusiastically.

Reports, some paper work, complaints, clock in times. Ugh. Half of this wasn't even his to be doing. He had people he could pay to do this. He ignored the thought, opening his laptop and getting to work. Looking to the paper and back to the screen, typing in the numbers and words he saw into certain slots and charts. Looking to the paper and back. To the paper and back. Again and again. As always. Seesh, this was starting to get aggravating. But that presentation was today. So he had to get this done. He let his head hang for a moment in childish abstinence. It was like being in school all over again. He hated school. He looked up, eyes trying to focus around his empty office. Well, at least he was alone in his own space. At school there were always people everywhere. In that insanely stupid building.

He'd barely learned anything he actually used to be in his position today, anyway. True, the position wasn't his to prepare for. Or rather, wasn't supposed to be until much later. When his father retired. Ah. There it was again. That feeling. That illusion, which fell over him any time he thought of his father. Of that night. Of that moment. Time almost seemed to move faster, his brain working on autopilot as he watched the words appear on the screen. Yes, that sounded right. That too. This should make them understand. Did he check over the data? Yes, it was all correct. So many numbers, so many words, so many keys that constantly kept up with the speed he could type. For a conclusion, his chart should work nicely. The PowerPoint was finished now. Saving his work, moving on to the last paragraph he had in mind. Last sentence. There it was. Did he need anything else? Finally, he was interrupted. 

"Sir? The Lyman Steel Comany is here for the presentation." Cassandra spoke as she opened the office door, brushing a stray hair back behind her ear. Ken paused. There it was again. Over before he knew it. He blinked. His eyes stung. He looked to the secretary. "Who?" He asked, although he knew exactly what she was talking about. He stood up and gathered his laptop as she spoke. "Lyman Steel Company. The one we just bought out? With the factory we needed?" She looked a little disappointed at Ken as he walked towards her with his computer in hand. "Do you really not remember this at all?" She asked, to clarify. Ken smirked as he neared closer to her, as though he was about to walk out of the doorway. "No, no, I remember. I just needed an excuse to hear your pretty voice." He replied, watching her eyes widen slightly. Cassandra then gave a small smirk of her own, eyes half lidded and cheeks heating up slightly. 

"Oh? You know, Reagan said something similar to me."

"What, at that trashy outdoor theatre?"

"Yes, because your room would be so much better."

"Well, I figured I'd take you out to dinner first, Cassandra. Do I need to be taking a faster pace here?"

Ken's voice had become more confident and smooth, and Cassandra gave a small dejected sound. "Oh come on, you know that's not what I was trying to say." She retorted as Ken walked past her, turning with him and walking by his side. They made their way through small walkways and crowded workspaces as they spoke. "Uh-huh, of course. Well then, if we're sticking to the same pace, dinner first?" Ken turned to Cassandra momentarily to show her his cocky smirk, and she scoffed as they made it through the workspace and into a clear hallway. "Don't give me that look." She crossed her arms. Ken smiled, leaning in a whispering to her. "I'll get us a reservation at Lengardio's this weekend." He backed away, watching the surprised expression on her face form.

"L...Lengardio's?" Her voice seemed to change slightly as she regarded one of the most expensive restaraunts in the country. Ken gave a small sound of victory, then walked away, leaving Cassandra speechless. Ah, what a wonderful feeling it was, leaving someone speechless. It made his chest feel warm, and his personality feel high. What an underrated feeling. He stopped outside of the company meeting door at the end of the hall, knowing he would already find all of his participants inside. He put his hand on the gold handle of the pale grey door. And took a breath, feeling confident and in control. He opened the door.

All heads, from every seat around the large round table, turned to him. Men and women, though mostly men, looked to Ken as he walked in. They wore grey and black suits, mainly blue ties, ironed pants or pencil skirts in the case of ladies. They had a few papers sprawled in front of them on the table, and not a single one dare touch the projecter that sat at the far side of the surface. Ken came forward and set down his laptop, plugging one of the cords of the projector into it. He clicked a button, and his PowerPoint was suddenly up on the giant board at the head of the room. He clapped his hands, turning to the people of the room, who were now silent.

"Alright! You guys are finally here, huh?" He smirked at the people. Some gave a small laugh, while others were very obviously unenthusiased. Ken took no mind to either reaction, and clicked the slide on his PowerPoint to display the words. As he began to explain, he heard his voice go a little darker. A tad bit monotone. He knew what he was saying, an could obviously explain it, yet his mind was also somewhat detached. He continued speaking. He spoke exactly what he knew, switched the slide exactly when he needed to. "Excuse me." A voice stopped him. Ken was snapped from his small daze. He took a moment to recover, looking blankly at the board.

He then turned around, looking at the man who said it. He was black, brown hair, brown eyes, obviously older than him. He had a frown, looking like he refused to accept that he was now working for Caldero Steel. Ken stared at him for a moment, before giving a short smile. "Yes?" He asked coyly, watching the man's face grow cold. "When are you plannin' on telling us why your logo is suddenly slapped on all our shit?" The man asked bluntly. Most others in the room looked ashamed of him, but some seemed to silently agree. Ken stared for another moment.

"...Excuse me?"

"When are you plannin' to explain?"

"I'd figure the concept is easy to grasp."

"Nu-uh. Not to me."

This man was stubborn. Wanted to be a hero. Ken came across people like him every now and then. They were usually horrible meddlers, like children who didn't know their place. He could feel boiling irritation build up inside of him as he spoke. "And why not?" He asked. Calmly. As calmly as he could. The other man's eyes grew cold again, and he looked as though he was about to inform Ken of some great misstep. "That treaty between this company and yours. It still exists, even if its old." The man started. Great, he brought it up...

"You pulled some dirty tricks, gettin' this company." The man wouldn't end what he thought was a relentless rampage. Ken stared again. This time, it was clear that others could tell he was angry. He realized he was frowning. He took a moment to simply stare, as if conveying his anger to this...this immature worker. And he smiled. "Well...I think you'd better look again at that agreement. And uh...since you only came in here to rant to me..." Ken leaned forward, putting his hands on the table. Some other employees looked away from him. He stared straight at the man he was addressing.

"...then how about you get outta here...and leave this to the big dogs? You can leave your ID badge on the front desk." He finished. The newly fired man looked a little surprised, but that quickly boiled down into anger. He sat, staring daggers at Ken for a while, before standing so fast that he violently tipped his chair. The scene almost made Ken smirk. How excellent. This man had no idea how much he was actually giving off to him. And now, the company would be rid of that immature creature that was storming out of the door. 'As it should be.' Ken thought, to the sound of the door slamming. All was exactly...as it should be.


	3. Red Embers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dirty secret, being kept away from everyone else in Ken's life. Essential to the story? Defeniently.
> 
> Warning: This Chapter contains strippers and immoral deals.
> 
> +1 Sin....this scene does not contain a lap dance.  
> (*cough* Cinemasins *cough*)

The sky was a dark blue color, pale with the light of the sun falling under the weight of the rising moon. The buildings that encircled the roads pierced through the soft color with striking silvers and colorful advertisements. The soft rumble of the car beneath him on the road was a familiar feeling, welcomed and anticipated every day he left work. Ken was driving away, down the familiar highway which led him to his home most days. Today, it was leading to a slightly less familiar place. Yet, he knew it as if he was a recurring visitor every week. He was not.

He was at the stoplight before he knew it, as he let his mind travel to the thoughts he kept in the back of his mind. The thoughts he kept specifically for car rides. Yet, the barely held any importance. Nor did he truly care about half of them. Three things stuck out to him as interesting, and only three. The reservation he had to make at the restaurant for Cassandra and himself, the few changes he wanted to make in his home and schedule, and the growing anticipation of arriving at his destination. It seemed scandalous, as it usually did. He never told anyone he'd been there, much less continues to visit every three weeks or so. 

He was a rather big figure, even if most only knew him as 'the owner of Caldero Steel'. If this information went public, it may cause havoc. And the act of paying the building to keep quiet, now that he thought of it, may be illegal. Well, perhaps not. He hoped it wasn't. Ah, but the boundaries of this in and of itself were already borderline. He shrugged the thought away. He had no need to dissect the idea down any further. It's not like he was about to turn around, now that he was here. Turn around to the road just beyond this, which led home. No, this was simply another selfish indulgence of his. Nothing too spectacular, either.

His car silently stopped beside the building, which bounded forward with lights and flashing silhouettes. Velvet ropes formed the people into a line at the door, stretching to the end of the left wall and most likely beyond. The people in line waited on phones or staring at watches and nails and purses. Women wearing short dresses or shorts and crop tops, with men looking much like Ken himself with their dress shirts and pants. He walked past all of it, loving the feeling of their scowls and glares as he passed the people of the line. Now, this was not scandalous. Everyone expected wealthy men such as himself to come here. He had further to go.

He gave a smirk to the man standing in front of the door. A gymnast trainer, fit and energetic, who stood with crossed arms and a short buzz cut as though he came from boot camp. He smiled as he recognized Ken, stepping aside. "Nice night, sir?" He asked knowingly. "You know it." Ken replied with a mischievous tone, opening the door and walking inside. He was immediately met with the sight of people everywhere, dark surroundings lit up with dim blue and red lights. People sitting in couches and chairs, drink glasses littering the table before them. The bar half full, seats near the end left open to invite others in. Small useless coins, pennies and dimes, could be seen glittering where they had been dropped and forgotten in the floor beside chairs and surfaces.

Past this front area was where most of the people were. As Ken neared it, the music he was met with when stepping in grew louder. A song with a girl singing slowly in his ears drew him to stop for a moment, enjoying the view. Raised platforms, lit from the bottom with pinks and reds, held a long metal pole that disappeared into the ceiling. He smirked when the girl on stage noticed him. An alluring girl with dark skin, and braided hair. Her eyes, made up with cat's eye makeup, caught his in an instant. She gave a smirk too, most likely her first one of the night, lowering herself into a pose that showed off the revealing purple outfit she wore. She cast a playful glance to Ken, then looked towards the very back of the club and back to him again. He gave short nod, and she gave a smile. Ken backed away from the crowd around her, leaving her to perform for the mindless sheep throwing money on the stage.

As he made his way past the three stages spaced out around that area, he came to another 'dining room', if one could call it that. Dark red booths and couches, which caught his eye with their alluring color. Dark wooden tables, with liquor and snack menus. A playful menu with the silhouette of a pin-up girl to the side of it featured door numbers with prices beside it. It stood, advertised, on each empty table. Girls in bunny costumes carried trays along the walkways, red leather on their body piece matched with black stockings and ears on headbands. Each had a small, white fluffy tail. They cast glances at him, smiles, some out of recognition and others from attraction. He walked past them confidently.

Slipping past the people around him, he came to a 'VIP' door. Guarded by another man. This time, Ken didn't recognize him. He was muscular, wearing a dress shirt and pants like many other men here, with a suit that had a gold tag displayed on the front. 'VIP Bouncer' it read, as he stood in front of the dark blue door. Two short golden ropes led a path straight to it, with no one in line. Ken walked straight onto that path, catching eye contact with the man as he retrieved his wallet from his pocket. Ken took from his black wallet a golden card with dark blue designs printed on it. It had his name, Ken Caldero, and 'VIP Member' underneath it. The name of the club was plastered onto the back of it. He flashed this small ID-shaped card to the man in front of the door.

The man gave a nod, stepping aside. Ken gave a short grin in return as a 'thank you'. Nonverbal 'thank you's' were always enjoyable. Convenient, short, always understood. Besides, it kept a man like him with a mysterious facade when faced with strangers. A little mystery was always a good thing, wasn't it? Ken opened the door, and stepped into the room. The bouncer quickly closed it behind him. This room had black couches along a few of the walls, with small white tables in front of them. A private show was happening in the center of it, as a familiar woman danced on another raised platform, this one with gold light protruding from it. She was currently moving around the pole it displayed, back turned to Ken. He wasn't necessarily complaining, though he did want to speak with her.

He decided to wait, enjoying the show. There were a few other people in the room along with him. A woman in a small white dress, and two men. One in a black suit and the other in a blue vest. They sat on different ends of the room, all of them, with drinks and eyes on the dancing entertainer. Ken walked slowly over to the only empty black couch, sitting down and silently resting his arms over the backrest. His green eyes, striking in the damp light of the room, watched the lady as she moved. A white woman, long red hair draped back in a ponytail that fell suggestively over her shoulder. She wore a short white shirt, adorned with fishnet sleeves. She only wore a white veil over white underwear below that, which outlined her wide hips. She knew her curves existed just as much as the people watching her.

Finally, her emerald eyes caught Ken's. She continued performing as though on autopilot, but maintained her eye contact. No smile, no grin. Her eyes portrayed everything she needed them to, as her body followed her dance. Ken only watched, feeling the emotion leave him as their eyes communicated silently. It was almost over too soon. She turned away from him to dance around the pole, displaying herself to the other VIP members. Ken realized that his smirk had fallen into a smile, and he was suddenly focused on watching. Her body matched the rhythm of whatever son she was dancing to, which played a little more softly in this room than the other song had in the previous room. It was nearly twenty minutes later when her dance actually ended, and it had certainly not been the worst wait of Ken's life. She stepped down from the platform, the sound of her white heels muffled by the dark blue carpet.

She seems to be walking straight towards Ken, as two others in the room clapped for her. She smiled for the first time, softly, as she heard the applause. Was that a Rose she had in the strap on her hip? Yes, someone had given her a fake rose as she was dancing. The man in the suit, if Ken's memory was to be reliable. She retrieved it, smoothly, as she walked towards Ken. He felt a growing smirk on his face as she came close enough to reach him. Slowly, she placed the rose into the button hole of his shirt as she placed a soft kiss on his cheek. Then she stood, eyes now alight with a certain flame, and disappeared through the door behind his couch. Ken sat for a moment, feeling prideful and practically melted, confidence etching into his soul as the other customers looked to him in envy.

He reached up with his thumb and brushed over his lip out of habit, smirk growing into a huge grin as he made a small sound to himself and stood from the couch. He opened the door, not caring how the others made small noises of hesitation to him, and closed it behind him. Ha. They would never come into this room. He walked forward, feeling the fake rose tap against his chest as he continued past clothing hanging on portable silver rails. A few women were changing, and they cast Ken knowing glances as he walked past them. He entered a hallway, turning a corner into a small lounge. It had a few chairs, and about ten girls who walked around to change uniforms or get the key to a certain room for a customer. A woman, who looked a little older than the young girls all around her, sat behind a desk at the front of the room.

Ah, and there the red headed girl was. Sitting in a chair, with one of her heels hanging loosely from her toes. She smirked at Ken, eyes meeting with his and causing the embers of a fire to alight. He smirked in return, knowingly, keeping eye contact with her for a moment. Another girl walked past him, tugging on the tight top of her outfit, walking out of the door he just came from to dance for the VIP members. Ken, knocked away from his gaze, traveled forward to the girl at the desk. She gave him a cheeky smile, her blonde hair falling over her shoulder as she leaned forward. She held herself up on her elbows at the desk, her deep blue eyes looking up to Ken.

"Well, well. He returns." She commented, a confident and mischievous tone to her voice. "That I do. How's the business, Charity?" Ken replied with mock politeness, pulling from his pocket the same wallet he used earlier. "Ah, same old. Emilie's been doing pretty well lately. You here for her?" The woman asked, as she pulled a pen and notebook in front of her from the far side of the desk. "Not this time." He replied, counting the money he had in his hand before burying his wallet back into his pocket. The woman glanced past Ken, seemingly making eye contact with someone else, and smirked. "Veronica?" She asked. "That's the one." Ken replied, as if he hadn't been thinking of her name "Oh, don't act like you're not familiar with her, Kenny." Charity replied as she took the money Ken held out to her. Ken didn't reply.

"It's funny, though. I thought you've been partial to Emilie in the past." Charity said, counting the money she was handed, "What's got you turning to Veronica lately?" Ken only smirked in return, remembering the way their eyes met as Veronica danced in her tiny white outfit. Charity, or so she was called, opened a drawer in her desk and put the money directly into a hidden wallet. She seemed to be waiting for an answer, but as her eyes met Ken's with a curious gaze, she gave up on figuring it out. Did she see something in his eyes that he hadn't meant to portray? He hated when people could do that. But perhaps...in this case...it wasn't so bad.


	4. Refusal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit starts to happen...
> 
> ...and Ken throws a tantrum.

Her eyes were a vivid emerald color, as they always were, which matched perfectly with her dyed red hair and white outfit. So why did they seem so dull to Ken now? He leaned forward towards her again, an irritated look on his face, getting closer as if to hear what she was saying. "What...what do you mean?" He asked. She maintained eye contact with him for a little while, and her face portrayed a guilty expression. She looked away, eyes staring at a spot on the floor. "I don't think I can do this tonight." Veronica replied, fiddling with the beige purse she had thrown over her shoulder. She stood there in his room, in place, looking much less confident than she originally had.

"Wha-...you've never done this before...you think just because my house is empty something bad is going to happen?" Ken asked to confirm, hints of a tone in his voice that portrayed how crazy the concept was. Veronica looked back to him, expression growing steely and a little defensive through her guilty face. Ah, not that again. He saw that look in other's eyes too often. It was the first he'd ever seen of it in her. "Look, I know what I saw. It's not just the house, it's what could happen here." She replied, her hand still clutching the strap of her purse. "Well, I know what should be happening." Ken said, half joking. Veronica stared for a moment, sharing a little bit of the humor, but visibly reaching the same conclusion in her thoughts.

"I get that you didn't expect it...and I didn't either. From what I can tell Ken, you're not that bad of a guy. That's why I think it's best for me to leave before something happens."

"Because of some prank letter? Come on-"

"It wasn't a prank! It was too serious to be a prank..."

"People put unnecessary effort into pranks all the time."

"Well, there's no one who would do that to me. It was serious."

"....."

"...I just...that's not the only thing, either. I've seen...something today, like a shadow. Whenever I was alone, I felt it lurking around me."

"I think you're just being ridiculously paranoid."

"I'm not! I...I don't know, maybe I am. But why do you think I've been around people all day? It seems like every time I'm alone..."

"But you aren't alone with me."

Ken took a step forward, brushing his hand over Veronica's shoulder, casting her a glance. He knew that she understood what his eyes were saying. She was wonderful in the way of nonverbal communication with him. But her eyes said something different. Ken stared for a moment, before giving a small frown. "What, so going out alone is somehow better?" He asked. Veronica shook her head. "My sister...she texted me and said I could stay there tonight. She has a pretty secured house, a camera and motion sensor out front..." As she spoke, it seemed more and more evident that Ken was not getting what he originally thought he was tonight. "My house is perfectly secure!" He said it, offended, taking his hand off of her shoulder.

"I-I believe you! I just...I'd feel safer with my sister. Just for tonight." Veronica explained, casting a sympathetic look to Ken. He groaned, resting his fingers on the bridge of his nose for a moment. He looked back to her, dropping his hand, an aggravated expression cast over his features. "Alright then, what about how much I paid tonight? You think that just grows on trees?" He asked, in an irritated way. Veronica frowned. "I can give you back your money right now." She replied, stunning Ken into a short silence. He then glared angrily at her, his hands clenching. "Listen, I don't need my money back! There's a reason I spent it on you tonight. And this, right now, after earlier..." Ken explained, motioning between the two of them, "...feels like complete and total bullshit."

Veronica sighed, looking away. "I know, I know. And it's not right, I get it. I teased you, then told you I couldn't stay once we got here. I understand how you feel." She said. It almost sounded like she'd heard it from many guys in the past. It didn't make Ken feel any more impressed with what she was doing. "Then why are you making such a big deal out of all this? You're perfectly safe here, and we're both here for a reason!" Ken argued, his hands motioning to the room they were in. Veronica gave another look of sympathy as she went back to making eye contact with him. "I know...and if it was any other time I would stay, I promise you...especially since it's...you." She replied. The compliment didn't soften Ken's temper. She continued. "...But I can't tonight. I thought I'd feel better if I was here with you, but I feel so much worse."

"And so you're just going to leave?"

"....Yes."

"Are you bullshitting me right now?"

"...I can call Emilie if you want, and have her come here. I think she's free tonight. I can get you a discount too, since I sorta screwed you over..."

"I don't want Emilie! I don't want your fucking discount!"

"...Just tell Charity that I told you that you could have a discount on the next girl. I'll make sure it's covered."

"You're fucking absurd."

"Yeah, well, people tend to act like that when they feel like they're about to die!"

"No one is after you, Veronica! No one! You're making it all up in your head! Over some stupid letter!"

Ken was beginning to yell now, obviously angry and no longer containing himself. Veronica just shook her head, not even bothering to respond. She dug into her purse, pulling from it a small white leather wallet. She opened it and took out all of the cash that was on the inside, which was a fairly sizable amount of twenty dollar bills, and held them out to Ken. "Here." She said, calmly. Ken hesitated, looking slightly confused even though he knew what the money was, slowly taking it from her. The moment he did, she pulled her phone from her bag and walked out of Ken's room.

"H-hey! What, you're just going to leave?!" Ken called after her. He walked over to the doorway, peering at her as she walked down the hall. "My sister's picking me up." She explained briefly, slightly louder in volume. It was almost unclear whether it was out of irritation or just so Ken would hear her from his room. He glared at her, stepping into the hallway as she walked into his living/dining room area. He snarled, teeth gritted. "Fine!" He said, as though spitting venom, and watched as she leaned against the wall near the front door to wait. She stared right at Ken, eyes the same cold glance she would give him as she danced, not any trace of a smile on her lips.

Ken stood straighter for a moment, meeting her gaze. How dare she? That look..was like an insult at this point. He finally turned away, and retreated into his room, slamming the door. Ugh, how annoying. How terribly and utterly aggravating. She thought someone was after her. Out to get her. "Fucking absurd..." he spoke aloud to himself, walking over to his bedside table and slapping down the small pile of money given to him. He sat down on his bed, and glared at nothing. He might as well of not gone out at all tonight. There he was, with the same amount of money he had when he left work, alone in his room. He sat there, feeling the irritation boil in the center of his stomach. Soon enough, he heard the front door open and shut. Then the sound of a car driving away. Veronica was gone.

His eyes narrowed as he glared at the wall and thought over that again. Veronica was gone. Veronica. Was. Gone. He gritted his teeth. She was gone, wasn't here, nothing he did paid off. She left because of some superstition. He made an aggravated growl to himself, hands clenched into fists. She left. "Motherfucker!" He yelled, standing from his bed and ripping the sheets off of it. His pillows flew into the wall. He kicked his bedside table, causing it to fall onto the mattress. The lamp bounced and remained in place, while the money fluttered down around his feet. He looked to his window, and yelled to himself as he reached out and tore down the red curtains.

He looked at his scene, breathing more heavily, hands itching. He needed to hear something shatter. In times like these, it was the only thing that calmed him. He swung his door open violently, walking across the hall and knocking a random framed painting of fruit that he never really liked. Why did he even have it there? He had almost no other art in the entire house, and it was hideous! It made him sick! He quickly batted it off of the wall, hearing the glass shatter on the hardwood of the walkway. It wasn't enough. He needed to hear something break.

He walked down his stairs, entering another hallway. This one was a darker brown color, a few shades more than upstairs. Two rooms, adorned with archways rather than doors, was the sole reason it was there. One to the left, which held laundry baskets beside his washer and dryer, and one the the right. He stormed towards it, entering the white archway. This room was the same color as the hallway upstairs, a lighter brown, with a cement floor. The hardwood was torn up due to some flood that happened before Ken moved in, and he hadn't bothered replacing it. A metal ring, which was used to bold items down in case of storms in the past, sat vacant near the center of the room. To the right were boxes. Boxes of old belongings or broken things that might one day be fixed. He walked over, grabbing one of them.

Turning, looking out of the archway, he grimaced and yelled as he tossed the entire box out of the room. It landed just outside of the doorway, and something definitely broke. He glared at the box, hunger in his eyes, as if wanting to destroy it. He couldn't stop here. He stormed over to the box, kicking it into the opposite wall once he got there. Ah, that cracked glass vase in there. He heard it shatter. Something about it made him feel more complete. Without missing a moment, he grabbed the box again and hurried up the stairs, throwing it up once he was halfway there. It clanked and clattered, something broke the broken glass even further.

Now that he thought of it, no one would ever even attack his house! Everyone was so paranoid, so fucking paranoid, because of all that news about serial killers and planned accidents and executions. So much death, it made people so irritating. He picked up the box as he came to the top of the stairs, throwing it again. This time, it tumbled and landed in his living room. He felt some sort of terrible rage towards it, as he felt his footsteps thud over the hard ground, approaching the box again. He picked it up and threw it forward, not even looking to where he hurled it, yelling again as he did. It was practically a scream this time, and he felt great as the weight of the box left his hands. He heard it clatter, opening his eyes which closed when he threw it.

It had slammed into his front door, falling open and revealing everything inside. Broken glass, an old book, a broken pen that now spilled ink, bent silverware, a torn oven mitt, and finally...his old microwave. His old microwave, which had been broken for a while now. It had a white body, the keypad being black, and it flashed green zeroes on its screen randomly. He glared at it, feeling more and more angry towards it every time the shorted out machine flashed at him. Eventually, it was his greatest enemy, and it couldn't go any further. He needed to stop looking at it. He needed to break it, to get it away. He felt his feet carry him, almost too fast as if the matter was urgent. He opened his front door. "URAAA!" He screamed as he threw the microwave out of his door. Out of his home. Out of his life. Finally, he heard it.

It shattered against the sidewalk that led to his driveway. It broke into pieces, shards flying, screen and body cracking. All that was left was a pile of scrap. It caved inwards on itself at the bottom with the impact, the sound being so loud and so jarring. He stared at the broken machine, finally feeling his heart rest. Or had it been his mind, as his heart was still beating furiously? Something was put to rest inside of him, something was finally snuffed. It almost made him smile, looking at the shattered old microwave. His anger still existed, but it was buried under a thin layer of this new satisfaction. But wait...something else had moved besides the flying pieces. Something else...it was the bush beside his house, wasn't it?

His house stretched past his door slightly, so he had a bit of brick hallway until he was truly outside. A portion of the small bush growing beside his house was visible from where he stood just in the doorway. He stared at it as it shook in the aftermaths of something moving. Had he scared an animal away from his home? There shouldn't be anything in his yard like that...it was bad if there was. Ken took a step forward, his heart still pounding and adrenaline still running from his tantrum. He walked slowly, as if to catch whatever animal he'd just scared further into his yard. But something about this felt...remarkably off. Perhaps because he'd just thrown an entire microwave out of his front door.

He approached the corner much more quickly than he meant to. Was he really moving that fast? He avoided a shard of metal that had reached closer to him as he walked, even though a strange side of him almost willed him to step directly onto it and prove that his shoes would most likely hold up just fine even when faced with it. Why did he think that way? Maybe because he was the one who caused the shattered pieces. The shattered pieces that frightened the animal in his bushes as they flew. In a strange amount of time which felt like hours and seconds at the same time, he was at the corner. Quickly, he turned and peered at the side of his house with half of his body around the corner, wondering if it was possibly still in the bushes. And he froze.

There was something standing there. Not an animal, but not human either. It stood out to him. There was white. White shoes, white jacket or hoodie or shirt, he couldn't focus enough to distinguish it. There was black. Black pants, raven black hair which came down to the shoulders. There was a pale color, which covered the face, which met with red wounds and scars that centered in on the lightest shade of pink lips he'd ever seen. There was blue. Steely blue eyes. They stared into him, carved daggers into his heart, froze his feet to the ground in one move. Ken's eyes widened. And they remained that way, not simply lasting for a moment as his surprise usually did. He suddenly realized what he was looking at.

"...Fuck." He heard a voice, an irritated voice, and he saw the eyes narrow. His heart beat began to race again, his mind kicked into gear as he saw the person take a step. No. No! Shit! He turned back immediately, his feet practically working without him, watching from outside of his own body as he ran back. Back to his open front door. There was no way...no way it was possible. It was a joke. Some prank. Some kid or a mimicker. Not the real thing. Not a real person. Not a real threat. Even as he told himself this, he couldn't shake the fear. If he looked like an idiot because he ran from this, than so be it. So be the prank, the joke, the crazed person outside. But right now, mind racing at a million thoughts a minute, his brain suddenly pushed everything aside. And all he could focus on were how fast the steps behind him were catching up to his own.


	5. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, the moment you've all been waiting for.

The color of his tanned brown hardwood floors had never been so inviting. Ken stumbled into his home, his heart skipping a beat as he made it past the doorway. He quickly turned around and pushed the door closed-! God damn it! No! The person outside stopped it, the large and shiny kitchen knife now cutting into part of his door. The person held it sideways, giving it a large space between the door and the doorway which when met would lead to Ken's safety. It was horrifying. The person looked at him through the gap, eyes ice cold and holding a certain amount of irritation to them. Ken gasped for a moment, as the event took place, then immediately convinced himself not to be frozen as he turned and ran into his home.

His bedroom door wouldn't be easy to break down! And if he could get in, then he could escape through his window as this lunatic was trying to get through! Ken heard the knife break away from its place in his door, then footsteps coming in and slamming it shut. Then they ran after him without hesitation. Shit! The person was fast! Too fast, too trained! Ken had just barely reached into his hallway and that person was already catching up to him. He had to get to his room faster! As fast as his legs could take him! With slightly longer strides, he continued to run, the fear from hearing those footsteps behind him propelling him forward.

Yes! His door! He was so close, past his stairs, nearing the door to his room. The window at the end of his hallway glittered light as if it portrayed a ray of hope. His hand finally reached the doorknob, and without thinking, he made the mistake of looking to his right. That figure was nearing faster than he had before, long hair sprawled with the speed he was going and an unamused look on his scarred and disfigured face. It looked so real, it was so terrifying, it was so...undoubtedly the real thing. Ken's own eyes widened again at seeing the crazed human, who was now to his stairs and approaching fast. He felt his heartbeat in his ears. His mind raced and went blank all at once. He opened his door, getting inside as quickly as he could, palms sweaty and breathing heavy.

As he was about to shut the door, a hand reached out and grabbed the side of it. "Fuck!" Ken let out an accidental verbal yell, working against the grip of the thing outside his door. Ken seemed to be a little stronger than him, as he almost completely shut the door on the other's hand, but the impact was stopped by his knife. His knife he just stabbed into the side of another door, silver handle resting on the doorway to keep the two apart. Fuck. Ken knew he wouldn't be able to close it through that. And the hand was still working to pry open the door on its own. Ken's uncertainty led to a short dip in his strength, in which the door opened enough to see the side of the maniac. This would never work! He had to try something else! 

He suddenly flew from the door, walking over to the corner of his room by his wardrobe. The door came open, the raven haired figure instantly turning his gaze towards Ken. Okay. Okay, he could do this! Just focus! The figure ran towards him, knife brandished, an aggravated expression painted over their strange face. Ken took a breath, then moved. The knife, which had been coming towards his chest, cut into his arm as he ran towards the doorway. Fuck! That hurt! He heard a low growl of anger from the killer behind him, who wasn't that far away at all. Ken exited his room, trying to gain an upper hand, but seeming to fail as the footsteps caught up to his own when he entered his hallway. 

He was never going to get away like this! Think! That's right, Ken was probably a little stronger than him- agh! He felt another cut go through his shirt, into his back. He felt rage began to form inside him and finally, as he entered just barely into his living room, he turned around. The figure gave another low sound, and Ken noticed the crazy look in the other's eyes. Fuck! He swiped his knife at him crazily, without hesitation, putting all of his weight into his swings. Ken barely missed them, having just enough time to step away between each one. Seeing his opportunity, Ken finally made his own move. He kicked outwards at the maniac, getting his arm cut again in the process, but his foot made contact with the killer's side. It was enough to send him back a pace or two, and Ken didn't miss a beat. 

As soon as the killer was stunned, he turned and kicked again. It sent them back once more, and his head hit the harsh corner of his wall where his hallway ended and the room began. The lunatic made a small sound of surprise or pain or both, but recovered quick enough to stab outwards at Ken. He only barely avoided it, as the knife still cut inwards a bit at the side of his stomach. He made a sound of pain, his eyes finally narrowing back at the killer's cold look. "That fucking hurt!" He yelled, kicking at him again. This time, the killer caught it in his hand. But Ken was almost too angry to even care. Without it phasing him, he swung outwards and punched. It made contact with the side of the cold face, and stunned him into letting go of the foot he held. The killer looked completely dumbfounded for a moment, as if no one had ever punched him in the face, and Ken took the opening as soon as he could.

He punched the other person again, this time right into the front of their face, sending their head into the corner. He made a sound of pain, and Ken punched again. And again. And again. Until not a single other sound was made beside his own grunts as he attacked. He stopped as he saw the arms of the killer fall limp, the back of his head hitting the wall a final time. Ken panted, heart beating fast and adrenaline absolutely enveloping him. He realized that the person stopped moving. Ken felt himself breathing hard as he finally completely stopped his assault, standing a little straighter and examining the scene. Soon enough, the body that was propped against the wall slid down to the ground, head falling towards the chest. The knife had been dropped on the floor beside them.

Ken gazed down at the freak on the floor, catching his breath. That was....that was who he thought it was, right? It was Jeff the Killer, an infamous serial killer that had the police bending over backwards just to catch clues on where he'd be. He had the people tense and families paranoid. And there he was, limp on Ken's floor. Ken could hardly believe it himself. Slowly, almost cautiously, he bent down to look. There was a small bloody spot at the back of the crazed person's head from where it had made impact with the wall. He wasn't...dead, was he? It would be amazing if that killed him, but...was that really enough? Ken only stared for a while, before he noticed the other breathing softly. He was alive. Meaning he could wake up.

Ken's brain began to come back to him, and he realized that he needed to get this person away as soon as possible. He couldn't just dump him somewhere; he'd come back. And Ken might not win a second time. He couldn't barricade him in a room; he'd break the door down or trash the entire place. So then, what? Tie him up, right? That would be the most logical thing to do. Restrain his limbs from making any wild attacks. But Ken didn't have any rope...or even chains, for that matter. He had belts, but they might be too easy to come loose. Besides, he didn't want to ruin his belts. So then, what did he have? 'Zipties...I have zipties.' He thought, running over the durability of them and how they would hold up. He'd bought a huge packet of them recently so he could start tying the cords of his laptop together at work, but he knew he always forgot them everywhere he left them, so he bought a pack of two hundred.

Would that work? Perhaps it would, until he had a better replacement. But not like this. They might be too easy to break if he simply tied his limbs together. So then, what would space them out so they held tighter to a smaller column, but still restrained the killer just as effectively? Ken's eyes widened slightly as he realized it. Ah! A chair. He had wooden chairs in the back of that room downstairs, as they were extras that he didn't need since he never had more than four guests at his dining room table. He couldn't just keep the killer up here, after all. He'd take him down to where the chairs were, so he wasn't in the middle of his home. Taking a deep breath, he stood up, finally deciding on what he would do. He quickly walked into his kitchen, opening a drawer under the sink and grabbing the package of zipties that laid there.

Stuffing it into his pocket, where it bulged from the pressure of a container too small for itself, he walked back to his living room. It was so jarring to see it there, the body, even after he'd known it would be there. Laying against the wall, legs slightly curved on the floor from how he fell. It was strange, completely foreign and different to Ken. Nevertheless, after recovering from the slight shock of seeing the killer there, he walked forward towards him. He stared at him for a minute, almost as if afraid to lay a hand on him, before remembering that he might not have much time before the person awoke from his unconscious state. Ken took another deep breath, setting his mind to his certain goal. He reached out a hand and touched the other's arm, then pulled away almost as if he expected the other to suddenly grab him.

He hesitated, but leaned down and grabbed both of the killer's underarms, pulling him upwards. He was lighter than he expected, though not exactly a feather to handle. Grunting slightly, Ken wrapped a hand under the knees and another under the back, lifting the person completely. He nearly dropped him once that position suddenly revealed his face. His eyes were not closed all the way, as his eyelids were burnt or cut mostly off. The charred remains of the lids only came down to about halfway over his eyes. It was creepy, and made Ken think he was still awake for a moment before he noticed the scars on the other's lids and remembered what he'd read about Jeff the Killer. Gone insane after being drugged up at the hospital, cutting a smile into his face and cutting and burning off his eyelids. He noticed now that the eyes were bloodshot around their steely blue pupils. If this was an imitator, it was one that had taken his obsession way too far.

Ken wondered if he should call the police as he walked with the body of a serial killer in his hands. He debunked the idea, knowing that there were thousands of media and news locations just itching to find any reason to write a degrading story about him. A police report to his home would definitely bring far too much attention to him. Perhaps a bigger reason not to alert authorities was that they would undoubtedly find things in his home that had no place being there...like his gun and the narcotics that were hidden in certain places. He liked having them, he admitted it, and he would never have as much fun at parties if he wasn't the one bringing drugs. The gun was simply for power and safety. So if he wasn't getting help from authorities, perhaps he should take matters into his own hands even further. Take that gun and put a bullet through this killer's head.

It would do the world some good, but Ken wasn't necessarily there to serve the world. And where would he ever dispose of the body? Besides, he had questions...lots and lots of questions for the person he was holding as he walked down the last step of the stairs. Despite the situation, he wanted to know first why he was ever here and if he was the real thing. He wanted to know his motives and what he was planning. He'd make his decision after hearing him. And...perhaps there was a more selfish side to this as well. The feeling that this person gave him...of fear and adrenaline and finally power once he had overcome everything...Ken had never felt that before. It was an addictive feeling, and he couldn't bring himself to simply get rid of the one who had caused it. Not right away.

That was an absurd thought. But it's what he was feeling. It was a strange feeling that he didn't understand in the slightest. Ken knew he was a little crazy. He knew he thought differently than most others. But this? This took the cake. This was quite possibly the most sociopathic thing he'd ever decided on doing. Where did he plan to take this from here? He had no backup, this was risky, and he needed to get out of this situation as soon as possible. Yet, he willingly walked headfirst into it. Uncertain, not quite calm, yet he still made his next decision. That rarely ever happened. And now, with the most terrifying and risky situation he'd ever been in, now was the time he decided to go about it this way? Yes, apparently. Yes it was. Uncertainty panging in his chest and mind, he dragged a chair along with him to the center of the room where the metal bolt was. And, feeling as though he was sealing his fate...he got to work.


	6. From the Killer's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tension rises...
> 
> *Little side note: This chapter is a bit shorter than most will be/are currently.*

Something smelled...dusty. Old. Ugh, there was a pain in the back of his head that felt like his own knife stabbing through it. It cast such a blinding sting that he allowed his head to hang for a little while more, giving a small groan as he awoke dizzily. Everything felt off, like something unnatural, and he was almost positive that the back of his head was actually bleeding. His eyes, open eternally, took a moment to focus as he awoke. He came to realize he was staring down at his own hoodie, but the pain in the back of his head took top priority at the moment. He moved his hand, reaching up to- wait, he couldn't move his hand. Confused, the allowed his gaze to travel to where he felt his arm resting. The charred remains of his eyelids only reached a little less than halfway down his eye, and they stung with how fast they widened.

Oh god. His arms were tied down to either side of him. On the armrests of a wooden chair, where he sat. Tied with white string- wait no, what were those? Zipties? He was secured to the posts of the chair, five large zipties around each limb. He lifted his head, looking around the room. Light brown walls, cement flooring, some dusty boxes off to the side in the right corner. In front of him was a doorway without a door, which allowed him to look out into the hallway, sporting a darker brown color. A sense of dread came crashing down unto him. Someone...someone got the best of him. He took a moment to let it sink in, feeling a short state of panic. Fuck. He was so dead. They were probably calling police if they hadn't already. He'd be put to death for his crimes...if he ever even made it to the prison.

"No....no, no, no!" He muttered to himself, trying to move his hands and legs. It amounted to nothing, as each limb was securely tied down. Great, perfect! Fucking zipties, really?! He felt so useless for being defeated by something he regarded as so low. He'd always thought zipties were easier to break, but with these large ones tied down as tight as they were he might as well have been tied with rope. He tried again, trying to move his arm back a little to see if he could somehow slip through. God, he couldn't even move it that far. "Damn it..." He said to himself, nearly growling the words as he began to get angry. Useless! God damn it! He never thought he'd be caught- not like this and especially not now! This was supposed to be a simple hit and run mission, not an actual risk! Fuck! He was always able to avoid this in the past, so why was he unable to this time?!

His mind raced as he tried again to free his arms, still fastened to the godforsaken wooden chair he sat in. He groaned in aggravation, pausing for a moment as his thoughts finally began to circle back the events of earlier. There was a chase after someone saw him. Anyone he left alive usually became a problem, so he'd taken to killing all witnesses. The rich, spoiled businessman who lived here...that was the person who saw him. They saw him after they...threw a microwave? That would surprise even himself if he weren't prepared for it, so of course he jumped. But then that annoying guy just had to come and check it out as fast as he could, making it a chase. Then what? He chased the other into the house, and the man made him extremely pissed...then...

Fuck. He was knocked out by that guy. He punched him into the fucking wall; God, no wonder his head hurt so badly! Was that why his nose felt stiff, too? There was probably a trail of dried blood....he growled in aggravation. "Damn it!" He said, louder this time, his hands balling into fists and making the thick zipties around his wrists press into his skin. He grit his teeth. There had to be some way out of this. He couldn't just wait here for demise. He took a breath, grunting as he tried to throw himself to the left. At the very least, he wanted to move the damn chair. He was met with nothing but a harsh tug on his bound right arm and leg. "The fuck..?" He muttered, as the chair didn't seem to move an inch. Hell, not even a centimeter. Was it tied to something else? He moved his head as far as he could in order to look behind him, which was a little easier than trying to move a limb since his torso was not restrained like those were.

Just one look sunk him further into his place of anger and dread. That...that fucker had actually bolted this chair to the ground! He felt himself scowl. Fuck. God, this feeling...what was it? His heart was pounding, his eyes were as wide as they ever got, and he could feel sweat begin to drip in the palms of his clenched hands. He was suddenly aware of his heavier breathing, and how his skin felt cold. He felt panicked, but there was something more to this that he hadn't felt in a long time. Even with how unfamiliar the sensation felt...he knew exactly what it was. Fear. He was afraid. He was stuck in the one situation that actually scared him, and therefore, he was fearful. Not of the wealthy piece of shit that tied him here, but of what would follow. He turned his head back around, settling back into his seat and casting his eyes to the floor.

There would be police, perhaps, and humiliation. Persistence, and an endless feeling of cold. Most of all...there was one sentence that just kept echoing through his mind, louder and more evident each time it repeated like the ever-present fear of demise. "If you are ever caught by the authorities of this world...I will kill you much sooner than they ever could." He recalled. Jeff moved a bit, involuntarily. Was that a chill running up his spine? Fuck, it was. His mind revolved around this for a while, before circling back to his captor. Maybe that entitled prick was planning to finish him off. Ugh. The thought made him sick...being killed by some lowly mortal that made it big off of mommy and daddy's business money. What a disgrace. Yet, it was probably the best way this situation could go, wasn't it? Better than being put to death by the filthy police or...the boss. Perhaps that was...truly what he feared the most.

As he stared at the ground, he could almost feel something within him die as all his thoughts crossed his mind again. There had to be some better way. Like he thought before, he didn't have to sit and wait for death, right? Maybe he could negotiate something with his captor in time to escape. However...he had nothing to offer a wealthy scumbag like that guy...their kind always have everything they want. Besides, he was never the best negotiator. He lost his temper too easily. He'd killed over disagreement on terms more than once. But each were in positions where he had most of the power. He could do nothing like this, tied to a wooden chair and weaponless. He could feel the knife missing from his pocket, which made him feel even more useless. He wouldn't be able to do anything if that guy made him angry...which was a position that he was not used to.

He gave a short sigh, irritated. What could he do, exactly? Just...sit here? Any second might be his last now. Police could be marching in to shoot him down or take him away. The owner of this house could be getting ready to kill him. Each thought only made his dread and slight panic increase. This was it. His downfall. And it was all because of that fucking spoiled- wait. What was that sound? He looked up, breaking his glare at the floor to find the cause of the short and soft 'thump'. He saw nothing, yet he felt chill ran up his spine and into the nape of his neck. Was it the police? The house creaking? An animal? Something more...vile than that? His suspicions were put to rest as he saw a figure step into the doorway. A familiar man, in a slightly ripped red dress shirt and black pants. The man's skin was dark, which made the large light scar on his cheek all the more noticeable.

Holding his gaze with the man in the doorway, he felt himself tense and frown by default. This was the guy who'd crashed his head into a wall and tied him up. This was the guy who was probably going to call the police. This was the guy who might kill him right here. And all the man did was stand there, looking a little nervous, but surprisingly calm for someone who'd obviously pissed off a killer and still confronted him afterwards. A short silence passed, in which he maintained eye contact with the tall man in the doorway. He could see something that looked like conflict in the other's eyes. Was he planning something? Arms crossed, stance tense, look unidentifiable. Had this man already notified the authorities? Was there something this guy knew that he didn't? He felt his fear lessen. It was more like panic and morbid curiosity now, staring back at the businessman.

Finally, the man spoke. "You....are 'Jeff'...aren't you?" He asked. His voice was smooth, as most business men's voices were, with a slightly deep tone. His question was calm and serious, only to extract the information he wanted. Still, the nervousness had not disappeared, despite how his voice did not show it. He probably had a lot of practice in that though, didn't he? Another silence passed. His arms moved slightly, then settled back into their folded position. "You are 'Jeff', right?" He reiterated his question. His voice didn't waver, as if any emotion he had at the moment never made it through to his voice. He stared....and Jeff stared back with a dark expression. "...Who wants to know?"


End file.
